


between control and chaos

by mespeon



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ballet, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Parental Trauma, Pining, Rivals, Rivals to Lovers, Sibling Rivalry, hes also ... just dumb man idk, idk bad vibes all around these boys rly dont have it great, self hatred, spoiler: theyre going to simp, theres probably trauma between them idk man, theyre at a ballet school and its very intense, this is a ballet au, zukka - Freeform, zuko is stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mespeon/pseuds/mespeon
Summary: "why do you push so hard?" sokka had murmured, a ghost of his own voice. the rooftop drifted a breeze that made his skin mull over in goosebumps, though he disregarded them, turning towards the boy he had previously been questioning. the rivalry felt so distant, so numb and mulled over, and yet he had hardly remembered it in comparison of moments such as now."because...because no matter what, no matter what i do--she'll always be better. i push to show that at least i'm trying." zuko had mumbled in retaliation, and giving a name to the feeling felt less terrible than it should've. azula wasn't distant, she never could be. he wasn't that lucky."i think you're trying just fine." sokka's fingers brushed over the boy next to him, and he moved them away in an instant, a counter to the very behavior he had just began.it was a twist, a turn. a pull, a push. between mere control and utter chaos, and sokka wasn't sure where they fit in to any of it.in which zuko is transferred to the ba sing se academy of ballet, and his entire worldview is altered in a mere moment's notice.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Mai/Ty Lee (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32





	1. first position

As how most of Zuko's days began with small squabbles, this one wasn't any different. 

"Now, Azula. If you have any issues with your luggage--or your brother, in any case--please don't fear calling home. I'll be expecting word back weekly, yes? I'm sure your cellphone will be allowed, so be sure to maintain constant contact, or--"

"Father, I'm not the one you need to worry about. I don't know why we're wasting our good money on--"

_"--Azula._ Have a safe flight, and call me as soon as you land."

A business-class airport wasn't usual for a family as high of a grade as his grandfather's. The Azulon family name was one that his father had carried on with pride, and that pride was typically reserved for airports intended for such--typically ones that were owned by said family, of course. Zuko had pride in it too, of course; he would be an idiot not to. Zuko was his father's son, and his father was his father's son, and his father's father was his--

"Zuko, if you don't stop gawking at the damned airplane, I'm taking your window seat." Azula had muttered pointedly, and Zuko knew it was about as public as her threat could be in the moment. 

For what it was, the plane ride was relatively peaceful. The six-hour flight left room to talk, though Zuko didn't find himself wanting to speak to his sister quite as much as a normal pair of siblings would. The settlement of tension between them hadn't waited to build, beginning in the taxi to the airport and stemming over the interactions with their father. Of course, his own weren't as fluffy and gentle and sweet as Azula's had been with the man, but it had gotten the job done--they wouldn't be seeing him until Christmas, in which Zuko wasn't about to think about. The longer, the better--that was, until he could prove his own worth. 

The Royal Fire Academy of Ballet had been promising for the both of them, but not for their careers. His father hadn't been too excited about their own excellences, not when there was far more at bat in the West.

\---

"I've heard good things about Ba Sing Se." The man had countered the two at the dinner table one evening. They never ate together. Eating together merely meant one thing--an announcement. "These...these _students,_ they travel from across the nation just to get into this school, and you two are no different. You need to conquer in areas that you thrive in, not merely mope along. Azula...I know you were looking forward to your role as Carabosse in the fall, but I'm sure you'll find one better here." A prideful smile spread across the man's crooked features at his daughter, and she shined in his excellent praise, as if a halo had been shone over her head. 

And then he had turned to Zuko, and the boy was sure this was where things were meant to merely go downhill. 

"And...Zuko. I expect this to be a fresh beginning for you, being Azula's senior by two years. This is your final cut. I'm sure you know what that means." 

_I'm sure you know what that means,_ the man had said. 

How did words shatter so easily? How did words feel like tiny knives, feel like harsh cuts into his skin? He could feel the blood, taste the copper, the smell of pennies and the rust of words and yet it felt all too familiar. _Do better,_ he had said. _Do better or you won't be able to do much of anything._

\---

"Get out. Plane's landed, Zuko. We don't have time to waste around here." 

Greeting them at the airport was an older woman who had introduced herself as Madam Wu, the Publicity Director for the Academy. She had asked the pair quite a few questions, though her main task had merely been to collect the ransom duo and bring them to the Academy. Though bumpy, the car ride had been mostly silent, Zuko's eyes trained outside. The buildings were far smaller here than in New York, though the skyscrapers were all gathered into a hodgepodge of sorts, more urban than anything. It had a sort of foreign beauty to it, though--was all of California like this? Everyone seemed so _different,_ even through a glance out the window. New York had been dreary, quiet, drizzles of rain and--

"--Is...this it? What the--" His sister had begun, arms folded over her chest. 

"..I'm sorry? Did you have a question about the city, Ms. Azula? I hope you know, our students take great pride in their city. It has a certain charm to it." Madam Wu had raised her eyebrows out of the rearview mirror, and Zuko had swallowed tightly, a sigh held back as he covered for his sister. 

"We're just not used to seeing this. New York was so busy--I'm sure Azula and I are both rather...erm, excited...to slow down a little bit." 

"Oh! Well, here's how I see it--with less distractions from the outside world, you'll be sure to focus on your training as much as possible, and...that is what you're here for, is it not?" Madam Wu had smiled graciously, and the relief Zuko felt was almost a distraction in its own way. They couldn't be getting into issues already--especially not with staff. 

\---

The Academy was something unlike anything Zuko had seen before. 

The architecture was an art form in itself. With wide, expansive raised ceilings and gorgeous marble flooring in the lobby alone, it had made him swallow tightly, a little overwhelmed at the valor of the place. He knew that if his father had been here he would've chided him on gawking, and in a way, he knew he _was,_ there being far too much to look at to _not_ gawk. It was gorgeously decorated with expensive furnishings, and though it wasn't new to him to see expensive things that were needlessly present, it was pretty nonetheless. He knew Azula was to be far less than impressed, but it didn't even matter--it didn't matter what she thought, his own opinions just that; his own. 

"This is our Grand Entryway--now, past this, the forks in the road separate our male and female dorms, along with our common rooms. The doors are locked after 10 PM, in which no one can get in or out of the dormitories unless notified by an administrator. And--oh, please don't make this difficult on me to have to tell you, but...do anything you even think would be unappreciated, and you're out. That goes for smoking, drinking, uh...y'know, _c-ca-uh!-canoodling,_ and--and, uh...the likes." Madam Wu sniffled, and beside him, Azula snickered. 

"Now. Academics are from 7 AM until 12 PM prompt, and dance classes begin at 1 in the afternoon until 6. Any questions? Good." Without waiting for a response, Madam Wu pointed up towards the clock before them, a sly smile on her face that Zuko didn't like the look of painting her features. 

"Would you look at the time...it's already 12:40. I guess _you'd better get moving."_

\---

Zuko had never moved faster. 

Finding his room had taken five minutes in the least. He had raced through the dormitories, desperate attempts to find a room labeled with his name almost causing him to be late in the first place. Finally, he had found a room that had his named messily scribbled next to a name that had been scratched out--what did that say? _Jet?_

Well, whoever Jet was, he wasn't here now.

His roommate was a boy with the name of Aang, though said Aang was nowhere to be seen. As he pressed his dorm key against the card reader and felt the lock click into place, he practically darted into the room, greeted with a mess on one side and a spotless bed on the other. Whoever this kid was, he sure was messy, that was for damned sure. Zuko didn't have much time to cringe at the various mess of objects in the room before he began to slide his hoodie off and over his head, flinging it down onto the bare mattress and beginning to pull on tights and a leotard in its place. 

His outfit was almost overtly simple, though he didn't quite know what to base it from. Zuko assumed it was standard here--not necessarily the school where it was incredibly strict about matching, but merely looking cohesive. That only meant he had to show his skills in talent rather than dress, which was both a blessing and a curse. 

Standing out wasn't going to be difficult, so he didn't need his clothing to reflect it. The marbling over his eye was a mere reminder that, despite everything, blending in was going to be quite inevitable, despite what his desires told him. There wasn't quite anything to it--due to his sharp differences in appearance than most, he had to advocate for that difference by actually meaning something. 

Ten minutes on the clock as he darted for class, his bag around his left shoulder. 

Nine. He was past the dormitory rooms now, his feet lithe and quick against the marble. 

Eight. He had far passed the rooms by now, chasing a clock that seemed to mock him. How dare he try to make it on time? 

Seven. Six. Five. His feet slowed, and he stilled his breathing. He didn't want to be _that_ kid, the one who breathed through their mouth and always looked scared out of their mind.

Four. He parted the doors that were simply labeled Rehearsal, and the smell of sweat and soft dissonance of classical drifted through the atmosphere. It brought him back, sent him forwards, propelled him--no longer was he in a prestigious Academy, but he was in any rehearsal room. There was no sense in being nervous for something you had trained for your entire life...right? 

Three. Through the clouded glass, he could see various figures at the bar, warming up and talking and overall being candidly chatty. 

Two. Pushing open the doors to the practice room labeled 16-18, Zuko kept his eyes to the floor, quiet steps finding a spot on back bar. 

One. His father's words drifted back to him as he began to warm up, pulling his lithe body into a plié as he stretched himself. 

_Do better. Do better, Zuko, or you won't be able to do much of anything._

\---

"And--one, one-and-two-and-three-and, and--lower those hips, Koko! I know your mother doesn't pay good money for your hips to be up to your chin!" 

Ballet Master Pakku was ruthless, and best--and worst--of all, he had yet to pick on Zuko. 

The man certainly knew what he was doing, and there wasn't any sense in lying about it. He was harsh, terrible, cold-blooded. Zuko had heard a girl whisper in the back that he was probably Reptilian, by the likes of his face. He had a certain ideology that he seemed dead-set in, and Zuko had noticed it rather quickly. 

The ones he picked on? Those ones were good, those ones were potential. They were humiliated, and tortured, and yelled and screamed at and sure--given hell, but at the end of the day? What counted was that he was _watching_ those ones--if you weren't being watched, you weren't in the count to begin with. 

"Again. One-two, one-two, one-and-two-and--excuse me, what is your name?" 

It took him a moment to realize how close the man was standing, and that his words were directed at _him._ Not the little girl behind him, or even the guy across the room, but Zuko himself, no disregard to it. 

"Zuko." He answered back simply, amber eyes lifting up to meet the man's own. He drifted them back downwards when he realized how intently the stare was, and then raised them back up, flickering until he was dead-set on keeping Pakku's gaze. He swallowed back his hesitance, and the distant memory of Azula mocking Madam Wu in the car drifted into his mind. Opposing administration? Was that a possibility in this situation, where there was no backing down? 

He couldn't be remembered if he was kicked out on the first day. Eyes back down, respect turned on. Zuko wasn't making waves. 

"...Zuko, eh? I...I suppose you haven't gotten a chance to learn the combination we rehearsed last evening, or else I'd ask you to show it to us. It's quite a shame, as--" 

"--A-Actually, Master Pakku, I learned the combination! I'd _love_ to demonstrate my skills, if--" Azula's voice from the other side of the room perked up, and Zuko almost cringed in on himself. Where had she come from? Why had he not considered that she'd be there in every equation, always desperate to undermine him? Was it going to be like this at this Academy too, or--

"I did not _ask_ you, Miss Azula, I asked your brother. Don't attempt to insert yourself in situations where you're unnecessary." The man directed his attention back towards Zuko once more, and he cleared his throat. "Now. I would like you to attempt the combination, as your father requested the choreography prior. After all, I'm sure the group is quite anxious to meet their new classmates, no?"

Numb. That was all Zuko felt as he walked past Pakku, the floor cleared as the students gave way for the impromptu performance. This was his Last Supper, his Judgement Hour, his--well, anything that had to do with fate and hell and the likes. Zuko's eyes snaked across the classroom, and the faces that met him were painted with indifference. Any source of sympathy was absent, quiet and bated breaths the only things that met him. 

"Start at sixteen--five, six, seven, eight--!" 

And, he was off. 

In the back of his mind, he knew that Azula had learned the combination better. She had memorized it painstakingly, obsessively, dancing it until her feet had turned sore and red and pained. She was undoubtedly staring knives into his back, his own Ides of March from a mere dance alone, the passion of the crime unabashed. She was surely to kill him, to shine in the spotlight and bask in the glory. It had never been Zuko's place, only hers. 

But in the moment, it was his own birthright. 

Gorgeous fits of passion painted the music, warm colors of yellows and oranges and pinks and golds of glory. The combination felt like fire, dangerous and hot, the notes skating along the ivories like one couldn't stay in one place too long. Balance, balance, step and--leap, and Zuko was in the air, a landing greeting him that wasn't the softest, but wasn't a fall, either. He was in the moment, passionate, taken over by the music and the desire to _prove_ that--

"Stop." 

\--that...what? 

"Stop, stop--! Why...are you so _violent_ about it? You're...passionate, but the piece represents the innocence of love, not the unabashed fits and tremors! Your technique is present, yes, but the emotion lacks. Something is overtaken, overshadowed, and that overshadowed bit just happens to be the _entire point of the piece."_ Pakku chided harshly, his words digging into Zuko's entire performance. The distaste was easily evident, and Pakku wasted no time. 

Zuko could practically feel his cheeks flaming. His hands were shaking, hot and trembly, and he put them at his sides, eyes widened as he felt himself get dug into. Master Pakku had nothing to spare, nothing to say except terrible chidings and harsh words, and...and yet he was being spoken to, being _addressed_ for once. Recognition--even bad recognition--was...well, still something. 

"Enough from you for today. Now...I want you to pay special attention to this. _Sokka!_ I know you're not the one talking in the back, are you? That'd sure be a shame, as I was hoping someone could actually do this piece correctly, and if yesterday was any marker--" 

"--I was just on my way, actually. Y'know, thought I might as well contribute." A lazy smile, and a boy stepped out from the crowd, his hair pinned back. Still, a few little strands framed his face, his bright blue eyes sparkling with bemusement as he stepped up to the plate. He clapped a hand to Pakku's shoulder, and the Master gasped, but a little smile fell on his features. The girls in the group chuckled as they watched Sokka, and from the back, Zuko could see a girl that looked almost identical to the boy with a facial expression that matched the amusement of his own face. 

"Now, uh...everyone, take notes. Really ain't nothing to it, y'just gotta feel it, so...y'know. Ballet-ing in three, two..." Sokka raised himself into position, and the music began, identical to Zuko's own starting position. 

Before he had even begun, Zuko's stance was decided: everything about this boy was distasteful to the art of ballet. 

He was lazy. His tights had a hole in them, and his shoes didn't even look completely broken-in. His hair was pinned, yes, but messily so, to where strands obscured his face and even cast shadows on his expression. His movements were passionate, but weren't the exact choreography--some moments dragged while others were quicker than before, yet irritatingly always on beat. Instead of bright reds and oranges, the performance reeked pinks and blues and softness, lithe and careful steps that didn't make a single noise except when he landed. Every movement was graceful, cautious, careful, and...

...and fucking irritating. 

If there was one thing Zuko had already learned about the Ba Sing Se Academy of Ballet, it was that people played favorites. If there was another thing that Zuko had learned, it was that Sokka was on thin fucking ice. 

And Zuko was going to be the one to break it from underneath him.


	2. second position

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the support on the first chapter! enjoy this one! more notes at the end lol

"So...what's his name again?" 

_I know his damned name,_ Zuko wanted to say, if not to just relish the words, _and I'm not bothered._

Zuko was, in fact, most definitely bothered. It had been a mere day since Sokka's initial introduction, and the thought of the interaction still made him seethe. It was if he could feel the heat radiating from his hands, from his core, from every part of his body--the first day, and he had already been humiliated? Of course, one could argue that he had at least been _noticed,_ which was one step above Azula already, but that was irrelevant. Emotional values aside, his technique should've been what he was graded on, not mere emotion. There was no drive behind emotion. It was unstable and awkward and shaky, but if there was one thing that _could_ be graded, it was technique. That was what his father had paid good money for, not _feelings._

That was that. No and's, if's, or but's about it. 

"That's Sokka. He's, uh...kind of a hotshot around here--that is, if you asked the girls. He's pretty cool, right? Him and Katara--oh, his sister...she's, uh...cool, too-- _anyways,_ him and his sister got here on some sort of scholarship, apparently. I mean, I could be all mysterious and say _no one knows where they came from_ and be all dramatic, but...they're nice. Pretty good, too." Aang explained, his legs folded underneath him on his bed. The pair had formally met after the class's recession, in which Zuko had put a face to the mess that he had first been greeted with. All things aside, Aang wasn't completely terrible; he had seen him in class, and though he wasn't who his attention had lingered on, it was obvious he was skilled. Though he seemed to mess around quite a bit, when he grew focused, his attention almost seemed to completely shift--as if the art took over everything, every desire in his body overcome to bring his skill into his passions.

Zuko could respect it well enough. He seemed to be just on the cusp of sixteen, a little younger than the rest of the class. Whether that was by pure incident or purpose, he didn't know, but he fit in well enough. 

"You're friends with them?" Zuko raised his eyebrows, his attention divided between Aang and his current bother--unpacking. He wasn't so lucky as to pack lightly, as one suitcase was reserved for plainclothes, whilst the other was reserved for his practice gear. He'd go through countless pairs of shoes, so there wasn't much sense in weighing down his luggage with those; in any case, the shoe room at a school like this was undoubtedly promising. "I...I guess he's, uh...he seems cool. Katara does, too--how long have they been here?" 

If he had to learn more about them, he couldn't hold the candor that he would've reserved for adults or authority. Zuko had to blend in, not stand out--not yet, at least. There was always a time and place, and patience and biding were essential. Even if it was unendingly difficult for the teenager, he could at least tell a white lie or two. 

"About a year or so? Last spring when we did Romeo and Juliet, he scored Tybalt. She didn't make a principal, but she's just as good, just...she wasn't old enough, I guess." Aang shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek. The hesitance in the air could've been spread with a knife before it fizzled, a small smile gracing Aang's features as Zuko watched him slowly dismiss his hesitance. "I'm sure you'll get to meet him. It's not like he's the strong and silent type--really, it's you I'd worry about!" A chuckle, and Aang fell back into the mattress, his legs flopping up into the air before bouncing down against the bedsheets. "Anyways. Shut-eye's at 10, so...try to get some, huh?" Aang lazily opened an eye, a big grin spread across his face as he looked towards Zuko again. 

_Yeah,_ he wanted to say, _maybe that would be nice._

If only he was so fortunate to believe he could get any to begin with. 

\---

"Now, I know that you're all anxious to receive your quarterly assignments. As you know, this will determine half of your midterm grade. You're all prototypes, keep that in mind--and, as most prototypes do, some of you will not reach final production. Your assignment must prove to me that you're enough to continue on in this Academy, and that you're determined and know where you belong. From now on, I'm unfamiliar with each and every one of you. _Familiarize me."_

Master Pakku had wasted no time in preparing the students for what was to come. Earlier that morning, Aang had dutifully reminded him of the overall excitement that entailed the quarterly assignments--this one no different. There were rumors of it being something group-based, as the first quarter had been solo work and practice in technique. 

_"There's nothing to be afraid of," he had said, "I'm sure Pakku knows what he's doing."_

Zuko wasn't so sure of that one, but that wasn't something he was about to let slip. He pushed his foot underneath himself as Pakku surveyed the room, walking across the floor. He pointed towards various girls, placing them on the floor and calling them by names that almost held no weight on the man's lips. Zuko stretched, eyes trained on the man as casually as one could without looking like he was staring. It was interesting--what was he getting at? What was this, a parlor dance? 

"Haru, stand by Yue. And...Kuzon--yes, you over there--go stand by Jin." 

Partnering...off? He hadn't prepared for this--of course, he had prepared for working alone his entire life, and...he knew how to work with Azula, but none other than she. They clashed terribly, but in the end, they made a fantastic product, a mass of passion and sharp movements and precision. They were the siblings that were both meant to be only children, both clamoring for a spotlight that could only hold one. If he was to work with Azula, it would--if Pakku was undoubtedly planning such a thing--be quite a product, one certain to make waves. Zuko only hoped he would've considered more than base ideals and mere thoughts. 

His eyes fell over to his sister's, hoping she wasn't looking at him when he looked at her. Amber eyes met the same hue once over, and the standstill between them was thick, obvious, and suffocating--it murmured only one thing. 

_Either way, we're fucked._

Pakku was still speaking, skipping over the occasional student for another beside them. It seemed that a good portion of the class had been matched, though the residual girls looked far more desperate than the men on the floor. Zuko didn't mind working on his own--especially not when the last of four available partners was quite obviously his sister, which, again--

"--Zuko, you'll be with Katara." 

_Oh._

For a moment, Zuko stood dumbly on the floor, eyes locking at the girl standing near the right of the room. She looked almost as nervous as he did, and he stopped for only a moment before walking over towards her to take his side. As he walked, he noticed Sokka called opposite to them, standing near a girl named Suki that he hardly knew. She seemed strong, but sweet; the type of girl that would probably be able to spot the boy without trouble instead of the other way around. 

And...Azula had gotten paired up with his roommate. Was there any sort of method to this madness, or was it merely for Pakku's own amusement? Zuko felt his face heat up, eyes flickering up to greet Katara. It had settled in after a moment that everyone here _knew_ each other, already familiar with each other's styles, dramas, and details. Everyone had practically grown up with each other, nothing derived from mere assumption, but years of learning. They were a family, they were _familiar,_ everything settled from time and time alone. 

Zuko had never felt like such a true foreigner. 

The way fate twisted him around was simply terrible. It was a push, a pull, a flounce and a leap, nothing derived from everything and everything derived from nothing. Was this mocking him? Had his own hatred of Sokka infiltrated the very foundations of fate, merely for the last laugh of the universe itself? It felt as if everything was clashing, and yet he hardly _knew_ this girl, and she didn't know him. It had never been her fault, and yet Zuko felt terrible, sick to his core. He didn't even notice the music begin, not until Katara had nudged him in the friendliest way possible, and then they were off. 

_She's cautious. The fundamentals are present, and her raw talent is just as good as her brother, but she hesitates far too much, almost as if she's expecting herself to fall, or her to be worse than she already is._

Katara was a talented dancer, and yet, as their dance continued on, Zuko was only growing more and more conflicted. Was hesitation a common theme within the Academy, or was it merely reserved for himself? Aang, from the night previous, and Katara now--he could feel her pull away from him more and push less, and--and her hands were on his hands on her waist, almost as if _she didn't believe in his spotting,_ and--

"Hey, are--are you okay? You seem really tense." Katara mumbled towards her partner, teeth clenched so Pakku didn't notice their talking. "You're grabbing me--really, erm...tightly, and...I just didn't know if you were okay." Katara wiggled underneath his hands, pointing out the obvious. It was an uncomfortable hold--sure, it wasn't dangerous--but it surely wasn't the most gentle thing in the world, caused by nothing but Zuko's own lack of focus. 

_"Fuck, _sorry, I--" Zuko began, and he released his hands almost immediately, effectively almost dropping the girl.__

__"--it's _fine,_ you--" Katara supplemented, though it was merely interrupted by Zuko once again. _ _

___"--no, really, I shouldn't have--"_ Another attempted excuse, and then it seemed the girl had had quite enough. _ _

__"--Stop apologizing and dance so we don't fail, Zuko. Niceties can come later." Katara gave him a weary smile, almost bemused in her own sort of way. It was admittedly a little amusing, their own attempts to work out not necessarily flawless so far. Katara hummed as she took the lead instead, and Zuko swallowed as he followed after her. In this way, he almost preferrred it--it was what he was used to, and yet her own beauty shone through his, their careful movements both precise and dedicated. They weren't a well-oiled machine, not yet, but the possibility was there. They both had an eye for precision, definitive movements and technical ideals, though she wasn't as trained. Her arches weren't perfect, and she could've stood to be a bit more flexible, but...Zuko couldn't pick on things he wasn't going to bother with. His only worry was passing, and they were on the road to doing so._ _

__The next three hours were spent doing partner exercises and combinations provided by Pakku from the morning previous, the memorization required for the class. There wasn't anything else to do in the spaces between having to focus for the class, though it kept Zuko rather busy. In the space of the hours that passed, him and Katara had gotten together rather swimmingly, though he chalked it up to their mutual desire for professional dance._ _

__It was difficult to go without noticing the stare that had been burning a hole in the back of his head for two hours and counting, though._ _

__Katara had noticed it first, and Zuko had _noticed_ her pause, the hesitation in her step momentary before returning back to normal. They were cycling now, quick and orderly, pairs of three as they moved across the floor for Pakku's own observation. They kept busy, but their small conversations in between were hushed and quiet in fear of getting yelled at by the Ballet Master. _ _

__It had started with a question._ _

__"Does...my brother know you?" Katara had murmured, glancing up at Zuko as she spoke. "Like, have you two met, or...?"_ _

__"Not formally." Zuko shook his head. "I mean, I'm sure you remember his performance in class yesterday, but other than that, I don't believe so." Zuko ran his fingers over the neckline of his leotard as he countered her question, shrugging. He had to act casual. Acting casual around Sokka's own sister could provide him with insight towards their situation, and anything was useful._ _

__"Well, don't look now, but he looks like he wants to straight up, uh...for lack of better words, _murder_ you. Did...you really not talk to him, or--?" _ _

__"Are you sure he isn't looking at someone else?"_ _

__There was no mistaking it--Sokka definitely wasn't looking at someone else._ _

__In fact, if someone were to pay true attention to Sokka during the entirety of the Wednesday evening ballet class, they would've noticed that his eyes had been trained on Zuko and his sister near the third hour of the class, and hadn't left the pair since. Of course, his partner's own concern had been evident, but had fizzled out after a moment of realizing she couldn't do much to deter it. It wasn't even that he was good at hiding it, no-- _anyone_ could identify the expression of contempt, and there had been no attempt to conceal the staring. Zuko had only had the misfortune of noticing it after Katara had pointed it out, and just as dutifully as Sokka could, Zuko had made it his duty to merely stare right back. There was no hiding it--he had turned away from Katara, making it his own purpose to find Sokka's blue eyes from the side of the mirror. He stared at him, stared at him just to do it, raising his eyebrows in a signal that spelled one thing: _is there an issue?_ _ _

__Because, unlike Pakku, Zuko wasn't afraid of a student. Not even one with a little scholarship money and a single ounce of natural talent._ _

__\---_ _

__Zuko had left the class fifteen minutes after it had let out, his finishing stretches on bar assuring his proper cooldown. He always tended to do a little bit of a cooldown after an intense practice--Father had always said that tuning the instrument was just as important as using it well, and he wasn't going to go and ruin his own body with strenuous exercise if not to cool it down afterwards. He had paid attention to who had left the room and who hadn't, and had only begun to pick his own belongings up once he was satisfied with the fact that a particular person had left the room._ _

__He didn't want to get into it. Not this early into the evening. The partnering exercises had been strenuous, and though Katara had been relatively nice, Zuko wasn't a person who tended to prefer partner work. He didn't like to make smalltalk, didn't like to focus on making friends when he was at the school to focus on improving his own talents. There were roadblocks, and there was the path to succession--he couldn't make any stops or pauses, or else he'd only be farther back than he already was._ _

__Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Zuko stretched his arms back as he felt the slow pop of his own joints. A slow sigh raked through his body as he reflexively stretched himself into a walk, waving a small goodbye to Pakku before closing the door behind him. He fished around in his pocket for his AirPods, putting the first into his left ear and pressing _play_ on his phone. If there was one benefit about having earbuds, Zuko had figured out, was that even if you weren't listening to anything, you could always pretend. People wouldn't feel like they had to talk to you, and you wouldn't feel nearly as bad about not talking to them. _ _

__Turned out he wasn't so lucky this evening, though._ _

__"You certainly took your time. I was kinda betting to see how long you'd take before you decided to leave, or if you'd maybe sleep in the studio." A voice behind him, and Zuko straightened his posture, the voice oddly familiar. Had...he heard it before?_ _

__No. No fucking _way._ _ _

__Zuko didn't spare him the satisfaction of having him turn around. The slow churn of delight in his voice of having caught Zuko so quickly was already disgusting enough, irritating as it was. Was he always so cocky, so confident of his own skill? How could one be confident of skill they didn't have, so sure of themselves when they didn't even possess it in the first place? How had he caught him without Zuko knowing of it beforehand? He had seen him leave!_ _

__But if Sokka's first meeting with him was already decided with rivalry in mind, Zuko was sure to deliver._ _

__"I tend to practice in my free time. It certainly helps build technique. I'm...sure that you know about that. Or...was that your sister?" Zuko countered, raising an eyebrow. The silence that met him was thick and awkward, and Zuko almost delighted in it, proud of his own comeback. Something had finally made that boy shut up--wasn't that something to be at least a little proud of? He wasn't to delight in things that were so macabre as making people feel bad--that was more Azula's style, of course--but if Sokka had brought flames, hell--Zuko would bring the gasoline._ _

__"You seem comfortable enough around my _sister_ that you'd be sure to know what she's like. Or is that an assumption, too?" _ _

__"I'm sorry?" Zuko raised an eyebrow, and his footsteps stopped, turning quickly to face Sokka. He may as well have put a face to the name and behaviors, and not just from across the room._ _

__It was, as were most things these days, something he'd end up regretting._ _

__If Zuko had been talking when he had turned around, he might've lost his breath for a moment. Sokka stood there not five inches away from him, tension so thick that you could simply cut it with a knife. Still, Zuko's eyes narrowed, locked onto Sokka's own. He could see the sweat that had gathered on his brow from the intensity of the practice, and his hair, now freed from the ponytail that had held it back. He was sure hair that long wasn't quite appreciated in the Academy--of course, Sokka didn't seem like the type of person to care too much about rules. It was a brown color, almost identical to that of his sister's own. In the low light of the evening, soft painted shadows illuminated the pair in moonlight and the studio's own clouded soft acrylic lighting, bright fluorescent and yet quiet all the same, the hall absent of noise except for them._ _

___"Katara."_ _ _

__"I know your sister's name."_ _

__"You know what I'm talking about. I--I don't know what you're trying to _do,_ but I saw how you were grabbing her, and if you think you can make her like you just by--" _ _

__Wait. Wait, wait, _wait._ _ _

__Did...did Sokka...did Sokka think that Zuko admired his sister? In a way that wasn't mere appreciation for dancing, appreciation for talent and practice? If Zuko's expression was anything other than sheer confusion in the moment, it was surely a mystery _how--_ never, in any sense of a direction that a conversation would go, could Zuko have predicted that Sokka would...go in such a way, such a way that was so out of left field that it made Zuko even pause for a moment. He wasn't sure how to direct the conversation, awkward and yet unsure of his own awkwardness. _ _

__And, even worse, he felt _angry,_ if not merely hot pangs and flashes of it rising from his confusion. He had tracked him down--not to talk about technique, not to argue about who was better--but to waste his time about a _girl?_ A girl that Zuko had somewhat respect for, sure, but a girl nonetheless? _ _

__Zuko couldn't recall a time when he had thought about a girl, period. Regardless of respect or _anything otherwise.__ _

__"You're...joking, right?"_ _

__The expression on Sokka's face shifted from sheer anger, to surprise, to confusion. Worse yet, Zuko didn't stop, unsure of how to convey his own words in a way that could articulate his own bewilderment towards the assumption. He didn't...he didn't like Katara like that, and certainly never would. To think such a thing would be dense, stupid, and undoubtedly ridiculous, in such a way that Zuko failed to realize why he had considered Sokka a serious competitor at all._ _

__"You...must be joking. If not, you're--you're ridiculous, or dense, or....well, anything but what they say you are." Zuko muttered, and he turned his gaze away. "I admire your sister for her own raw talent, and the work she puts into it. Because of her practice, I respect her."_ _

__Silence from Sokka. The first time he had known those words associated with each other._ _

__"And, oddly enough, that's the exact reason I don't respect you."_ _

__Did he win? The pause between them was quiet, but unfinished all the same._ _

__"--You think you're better than me." Sokka had finally found his words, and he caught Zuko's shoulder, pulling a hand up to grab onto him. His hand gripped a hold of the material, and he almost stretched it before pulling the boy back, eyes darkening. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, strong and present._ _

_Yes, I do. I know I am._

__"I didn't say that." Zuko swallowed dryly, eyes skating to the ground as he listened to Sokka's words. They held a certain weight to them, something far more serious than he had ever heard Sokka say. It felt heavy, thick--far less light than the original accusation of Katara's favor had been._ _

__"Next time you think you're better than me, I want you to think of something, Zuko."_ _

_Get your hands off of me._

__Silence. A pin could drop in the hallway and it would be louder than a screeching train, unendingly quiet and yet ringing desperately loud as he waited for Sokka to continue._ _

__"Think of who was called when Pakku wanted something done right, and _come back to me when that's you."__ _

__Zuko had been transferred from the Royal Fire Academy of Ballet to do one thing: climb the rungs, get better, crawl over people and things in order to regain the honor he had lacked._ _

__And, all things considered, he was beginning to think that was going to be harder than he had originally thought._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooohh...homoerotic tension....dont u hate when ur bf thinks that u have a crush on his sister when ur actually just......not into women 
> 
> thanks for reading! as always, be sure to comment, kudos, all that fun stuff. discord and tumblr are on the first chapter's notes, so i won't mind plugging them. if you have any questions, comment em below!!!!! fun stuff!!!! boost dat algorithm!!! 
> 
> also, i should come up with an uploading schedule pretty soon! classes're starting back up again, which means i'll have more time to put on a schedule. thanks for your support! peace out B)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic on here in a good long while! i have a roadmap of where i want this to go, but i'm really in love...ghh. i just really like the idea of them being rivals...very epic. also im a theatre kid so if i get ballet things wrong please pardon me. 
> 
> speaking of which--i don't normally write fics; i'm a roleplayer at heart! i'll probably be advertising this quite a bit, but i'd love someone to bounce ideas and plot with, so if you'd like to, my discord is sweetheart ♡#0666. if you draw art or really want to tag me in anything of this au, my tumblr is @emmiemusings!! 
> 
> thank u to the lovely @shitelock for proofreading .. theyre my soulmate xoxo
> 
> thank you for the support! :) kudos and comments arent mandatory, but always appreciated!


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